Here Be Dragons - 1 (28 page)

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htnent/ she smoothed it with a pumice stone, then dipped her pen
Joherinkhorn.
To the Lady Eleanor, my cousin, greetings.
I write to you from the gardens at Winchester Castle, on this, the Friday after Michaelmas, whilst I await my lord father the King to ride in from
Clarendon. I have not seen him since he did meet last month with the Welsh
Prince . . .
Here she paused, having no idea how to spell Llewelyn. After some thought, she opted for a phonetic spelling, although she was not even ure if her pronunciation was correct.
. Lliwelin. He had sworn to do homage to my father more than three years ago, but he was not overeager to make good his word, did only this summer agree to meet with Papa at Worcester. I hope their meeting did go well, hope, too, that
I shall have more time with my father now. I saw him but little this twelvemonth past, as you know. He was occupied in defending his lands against the French King, and I spent part of the year with my grandmother in Poitiers
. . .
Again she paused, remembering that her cousin, too, was Eleanor's grandchild.
Inking out "my," she wrote "our" above it, and then added in an uneven hand, "may God assoil her." It lacked one day of being five months since Eleanor had died at Fontevrault, but Joanna's grieving was still green, her loss still keenly felt.
She sat for a time, staring down at the parchment. Letters to her cousin were never easy, invariably written with a faltering, hesitant pen. But she felt compelled to persevere, knowing how lonely Eleanor must be. And then, too, Joanna liked to write letters. There was something almost mystical to her about the process. She enjoyed signing her name with a flourish, using large blobs of sealing wax, paying couriers Wl'h the silver pennies hoarded for such a purpose, remembering the ltfle girl who could do no more than draw her name in the dirt with a stick.
Did you get the saddle my father ordered for you? I do not yet know where Papa shall keep his Christmas court, but I am sure he will want you to join us.
Since I saw you last, I have acquired a dog. I had one once before; she died when I was ten, was run over by a cart, and I swore I would never have another. But my steprnother the Queen gave me a puppy for my New Year's

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gift. She is no bigger than a cat, with long, silky fur, comes from the island of Malta. My father suggested I name her Sugar because she was so costly!
What to say now? Should she mention Arthur? Was Eleanor avva of the vile lies put about by Papa's enemies, that Arthur was dead? i was so unfair. He'd been nothing but kind to Eleanor, saw that she han every comfort, even brought her occasionally to his court. Why, then would he put her brother to death? Joanna shook her head, reaching f0 the inkhorn. Pray God Papa would soon be able to mount his campaign to win back Normandy and Poitou, to punish Philip as he deserved.
"Joanna!"
The voice was Richard's. Joanna scrambled to her feet, ran to meet him.
"Richard, how glad I am to see you! Has Papa come, then? Did the council with the Welsh Prince go well? Did you meet him?"
"Yes, to all your questions. Hurry now, get your things together Papa is asking for you, wants to see you straightaway."
"Indeed?" Joanna was delighted. Her father's arrivals were inevitably chaotic;
sometimes hours passed before she had the chance to see him alone. "He truly wants to see me first?"
Richard nodded. "You know, it was rather queer. When Papa asked after you, Aunt Ela and the other ladies acted right peculiar, almost as if they were reluctant to have you found. Even Lady de Braose professed ignorance of your whereabouts, and she most generally has an opinion on everything!"
"Lady de Braose has a viper's tongue," Joanna said emphatically, "and I care not a pin for her good opinion. Need I comb my hair first?" J
"No, but your face is dirty." Richard spat on his fingers, wiped; away a smudge on her cheek, and then pleased Joanna by giving her a quick, awkward hug.
"The last time I remember you doing that," she laughed, "I'd spilled ink on
Papa's favorite book, was about to be called to account for my sin!"
Richard gave her a look she could not interpret, reached down fo' her basket.
"Come, I'll take you back to the castle."
JOANNA fumbled with the cloth, unwrapped an exquisitely engrave'1 ivory case.
At the touch of her fingers, it flew open to reveal a thin shee' of glass over brightly polished metal.
"Papa, what a beautiful mirror!" Setting it down beside her oth«' present, a bolt of deep blue linen, she gave John a grateful kiss. "^ you sent me a book for my birthday, do you not remember?"

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" \nd can I not give you more than one gift7 A pity my men in the aiier are not as frugal as you' mayhap I'd not then be so deeply in
They were alone in John's bedchamber Much to Joanna's surprise, father had dismissed all others upon her arrival, even Richard, who ed strangely reluctant to leave, glancing back over his shoulder
5 th the same enigmatic look he'd given her in the garden
"I think, lass, that you're now old enough to have a lady in attene to assist you in dressing and the like So I've told Isabelle to choose someone suitable for you "
"Thank you, Papa1" Joanna wondered if this was how Richard had felt when he'd learned he was to be squire to William de Braose the younger, was to take that first step over the threshold toward manhood "I have one more gift for you, sweethearta crown "
Joanna giggled "And a halo, too, Papa7"
John laughed, shook his head "I'm not jesting, Joanna I've made a brilliant marriage for you I've agreed to betroth you to Llewelyn ab lorwerth, Prince of
Gwynedd "
"Papa7"
"In truth, sweetheart I've offered the castle and manor of Ellesmere in
Shropshire as your marriage portion, will yield it to Llewelyn next spring, although I would not have the marriage take place till after you do pass your fourteenth birthday " John reached over, took Joanna's hand "You realize what this will mean, Joanna7 You'll be a Princess, lass This goes so far beyond what I ever hoped to gam for you It is a rarity, indeed, when needs and wants do mate in such harmony But but have you nothing to say to me7 I would have thought you'd be besieging me with questions Are you not curious about the man you shall marry7"
Too stunned for coherent thought, Joanna could only stare at her father in dazed disbelief "He he does speak French7" she whisPered at last
That was not what John had been expecting "Of course, and quite well He knows much of our ways, did live in Shropshire as a lad "
"Is he is he a Christian, Papa7"
John frowned, torn between amusement and annoyance "What s°rt of foolish question is that, Joanna7 Wales has been a Christian county since the days of
St Patrick To whom have you been listening7"
To you, Papa How often I've heard you say the Welsh were barbar-
lans' that theirs was an accursed land fit only for mountain goats, that e Welsh were as bad as the Scots and worse than the Irish Joanna said
Nothing, though, watched as John rose, moved to the table Her hands

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were icy; she laced her fingers together, locked them around her draw up knees.
"This Welsh Prince . . . how old is he, Papa?"
"I'd reckon about thirty or thirty-one."
Joanna could not hide her dismay. "As old as that?" she gaspej
"He happens to be at least five years younger than I, Joanna," JOL said dryly.
He was smiling, but Joanna remembered, just in time, that her father was fully twenty years older than Isabelle.
"I... I did not mean it like that, Papa," she stammered, and thena sudden thought came to her, a faint glimmer of hope. "But Papa, I ani your natural daughter. What Prince would want a wife born out Oj wedlock?"
"A Welsh Prince," John said and laughed. "The stigma of illegitj. macy counts for little amongst Llewelyn's people. If a father recognizes a child as his, that child then enjoys full rights under Welsh law. Llewelyn had his son with him at Worcester, a lad about eight or so, born of a Welsh concubine, and yet looked upon by all as his heir. In fact, if a Welsh woman swears a holy oath that a certain man fathered her child, he must then deny her charge under oath, too, or the child is held to be his. Moreover, even if he does make such a denial, if she can show he gave her money for the child, her word counts against his! I have to admit, they do have some queer customs, but..."
Joanna was no longer listening, was trying to envision herself as a stepmother to an eight-year-old boy. She could not, and with that realization, some of her panic began to ebb. She could not make this marriage. She could not. To leave Papa, Richard, Isabelle, all that was known and familiar to her, to live out her life amongst strangers, an exile in an alien land ... no, she was not strong enough, had not the courage Somehow she must make Papa see that, make him understand that he asked too much of her.
John had poured wine into two cups, gave one to Joanna. "Ah, lass, I cannot tell you how pleased I am about this marriage. Mayhap I should not say this to you, but of all my children, you are the dearest, the closest to my heart. I
can think of no greater gift to give you than this, a crown."
"Papa, you have been so good to me, and I would do anything fof you, I swear I
would. But this marriage"
"is the answer to so much, Joanna." John leaned forward, his eyes shining; it had been months since she'd seen him so animated, so enthused. "Before God, it was an inspired solution to the Welsh profr lem. I do gain a gold coronet for you and a secure border for England, a" for the price of one castle and a wedding ring. Rarely has a war been s° cheaply won, sweetheart!"
»\ war . " Joanna echoed numbly. "Is the marriage as important MVouasthat?"
John's smile faded. "Yes, it is. You want the truth, Joanna? I do not w if I shall ever be able to reclaim the lands lost to the French
M rmandy, Anjou, Touraine. Now Poitou is slipping away, being swal-
wed up by that whoreson on the French throne. I'll not let it go, not
° the lands that were my mother's, that Richard held before meby
Christ, I will not. But I cannot fight a war on two fronts, cannot deal th the Welsh and the French, too."
He rose abruptly, began to pace. "They are a strange people, the Welsh. Man for man, the best fighters in the world, for you cannot defeat a foe who has not the sense to know when he's beaten! We'd never have been able to keep them from laying claim to Shropshire and Cheshire, much less conquer so much of
South Wales, had it not been for their one fatal weakness, that they are such a quarrelsome, passionate people. They kill one another as readily as they do
Normans, engage in blood feuds, nurse grudges for years, and thank God, but they have ever lacked a Prince capable of uniting them against England . . .
until now.
Joanna stared down at her wine cup as if at some utterly alien and exotic object. Raising it to her lips, she took a tentative swallow; the wine was

warm, so heavily sugared that she all but gagged.
"There are men who be born lucky. All their lives, fortune does favor them, does play the whore for them. My brother Richard was one such. Llewelyn ab lorwerth is another. And he is clever enough, ambitious enough, and ruthless enough one day to rule all of Wales if he is not reined in. Already he looks beyond Gwynedd, dares to send envoys to the French court, to treat with Philip as if they were brother sovereigns. Should he ever forge an alliance with the
French ..."
John had wandered to the window, speaking almost as if to himself. He turned now, back toward his daughter, gave her a sudden smile of coaxing charm. "Are you not pleased, sweetheart, that you shall be Princess of Gwynedd?"
Joanna swallowed. "Indeed, Papa," she said tonelessly. "If it be your wish that I wed with Prince Llewelyn, I am content."
LEAVING her father's bedchamber, Joanna stood for a moment in the , ened stairwdl, not knowing where to go. So caught up was she in er °Wn thoughts that she did not at once notice the young page. Lady . . . lady, will you come? The Queen does want you." Joanna looked blankly at the child. "Yes," she said with an effort.

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"Of course." But the summons was not all that unwelcome. Isaben might be the one person who could understand how she felt. e
Isabelle was awaiting her in her bedchamber, welcomed her with perfumed embrace. "Ah, Joanna, how happy I am for you, love! Is it n' wondrous? Think, you shall be a Princess!"
"A Welsh Princess," Joanna said, and with that, tears welled in ho eyes, began to spill silently down her face.
Isabelle blinked. "Are you as unhappy as that? Ah, Joanna Putting an arm around the younger girl, she led Joanna toward the bed
"You just need time to accustom yourself to it. Do you not think I felt the same qualms when my father sent me to live in Hugh de Lusm. nan's household?
Of course, that marriage was not to be, and glad I am for it. But if fate had decreed otherwise, I do not doubt I could have learned to be content as Hugh's
Countess. As you will be content with Prince Llewelyn. Once the surprise of it does fade, you'll be quite reconciled, you'll see.
"Now sit on the bed, and I'll tell you all about your husband, tell you what
John should have and likely did not, men having no sense for what is truly important. He is dark, of course, like most of his people, with blackest hair, brown eyes, and a smile no woman is like to soon forget. He is taller than
John, and well made, with truly beautiful hands I always notice a man's hands;
do you? He is well spoken, and when he listens, he keeps his eyes upon your face all the while. And he has a wicked sense of humor. When I asked him about
Wales, he told me that his people were Druids, that they worshipped the oak and mistletoe and made virgin sacrifices!"
Isabelle laughed. "In truth, love, there are many women who would envy you, and not just for that circlet of gold. Oh, but there is one thing you should know; he is clean-shaven!" She began to giggle again "The Welsh do keep their mustaches, but they shave off their beards. 1 confess it did look right strange to me at first. I wonder what it would be like to kiss a man without a beard. You must be sure and tell me, Joanna."
Joanna turned away, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow Her tears had dried, but her breathing was still uneven, ragged, and she did not want
Isabelle to hear. She supposed she should be thankful fo' what Isabelle was telling her, but she was numb, unable to make sense of anything. What was he to her, this Welsh Prince she'd never even seen? There was no reality to this conversation, none at all.
"My marriage was in haste, with little ceremony. But we'll give y°u a lovely wedding, Joanna, a wedding to remember."
Joanna roused herself at that, murmured a meaningless "Thank you." A year, Papa had said, not until she was fourteen. A year seeme*